


Good People

by RoyalBlue31



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Sometimes it's easier to talk in the dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29335332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalBlue31/pseuds/RoyalBlue31
Summary: “I had a feeling when I first saw you in Germany, that I knew you already.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Wanda Maximoff
Comments: 1
Kudos: 64





	Good People

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky and Wanda trade memories and doubts, comfort and reassurance.

That night, he dreamt of falling again. He was holding onto the rail with one arm, his other outstretched, and a voice in his head said: _The rail is going to snap, it’s going to snap, you’re going to fall._ He heard screaming then—Steve’s? His own?—and then he was gone, dead weight crashing down, down, down, down, bracing for the end of it all. The impact was sudden and excruciating—his back had slammed into it first, followed by his head. He felt flesh rip, tasted the tangy metallic rust that was the blood in his mouth. Darkness crept into his vision before the ice and the water jerked him back to life—

Bucky opened his eyes. There was a rustle of sheets and the light came on. He sat up and pushed his back against the headboard and tried to gather himself. 

“Hey,” Wanda said gently. Bucky felt the shift in the air as she drew closer, that subtle thrill of energy that was all Wanda. “Look at me,” she said, and took his one hand in both her own. Bucky focused on the warmth of her touch, and shut his eyes. “You’re with me, you’re here with me. You’re safe.” 

“It was a memory,” Bucky told her after, once he could speak. “I—I remember the fall. I mean, I remember what happened _after_. I thought I fell into the snow, but I _didn’t._ I fell into the river. I remember hitting the ice, the water…” He pushed the covers off and scrambled toward the small desk by the window, pulling the map out of his backpack and smoothing it out. “Here,” he said, tapping.

“The Danube?” Wanda asked. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, bringing his hand up and running it down his face. “Yeah,” he said again, softer this time. His knees felt weak. Sometimes, he wondered if he preferred the nightmares to the memories; sometimes he wondered: was there a difference, even? It was all—

“The orphanage I grew up in,” Wanda said then abruptly, surprising Bucky. Wanda didn’t like to talk about her childhood, and he knew then she must have read something on his face; that she was doing it for his benefit. “It was located along the Danube, just outside of the city.” She traced the map, starting from where Bucky’d dented the paper until her forefinger reached Sokovia. “Here,” she said. “The girls and boys slept separately, large rooms. Twenty beds a room, and ours had this window that ran all the way up to the ceiling. You could see the river from there if you looked out, and in the winter…” She trailed off, and Bucky knew that was as far as she was willing to get into it. Wanda lifted her hand off the map and reached up to cup his cheek, looking at him with deep affection. “I know this must be difficult for you, to remember your life in bits and pieces. I wish it were easier.”

Bucky brought her palm to his lips and kissed it. “A small price to pay,” he said. “Shuri said I’d get most of my memories back. Maybe all. And I want to. I want to remember.” Good, bad, he thought, and then a new thought crossed his mind: “Who knows, one day I might remember meeting you.”

“You don’t want to remember that,” Wanda said, frowning. 

“I think I do,” Bucky said, letting her tug him back toward the bed. He lay on his back, and Wanda propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him. She ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him. “You could show me,” Bucky suggested, and Wanda laughed. 

“I could end up hurting you,” she shot back. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Bucky said, meaning it.

“But I have. I did, when we met,” Wanda said seriously, and he could see that she wasn’t completely there in the room anymore, that she was remembering it right before him. He knew that they’d met before, knew through Steve and then through Wanda--that they had put their heads and history together trying to find him--but he never knew the details. Wanda didn’t like to talk about that part of her life either.

Wanda bit her bottom lip, and then sighed. “I won’t go in your head. I won’t show you,” she said slowly. “But I could tell you.”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed. "That's okay with me."

Wanda scrunched her forehead, thinking. “It was the American,” she said, and tsk’ed, until, “— _Pierce_ ,” she said finally, and Bucky felt his blood run cold, “he would come in every couple of months to see our progress for himself. Strucker would run us through tests and Pierce would watch. Strucker, he kept saying he was trying to find the limit, that he couldn’t send us out into the world if we didn’t know our limits. I was so naive,” Wanda said, smiling sadly, “to think that we were fighting for the right side.”

“Wanda,” Bucky said gently. 

She waved the concern away, and then continued: “Pierce arrived with you. He wanted us to go up against you. Strucker was clearly upset about it and that was as bad a sign as ever. You had the arm, and the mask. We couldn’t even see your eyes. I was terrified of you,” Wanda trailed off again, and Bucky swallowed hard, his heart thumping hard against his chest. He thought about the arm, the damage it could do, and wondered if he had used it against her. “You got me, here,” Wanda said, hand sweeping across her neck, and _of course,_ of course he had used it against her—“And I got you, here,” and she swept the same hand across the side of his head.

“Wanda,” Bucky said. “I’m sorry, I—” and it was like he could see the markings he’d left around her neck, and he felt sick, horrible, like a _monster—_

“A small price to pay,” she replied, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I didn’t know before then that it could work in reverse. I was so used to showing people what I wanted them to see, I never thought that they could _show_ me, instead. You showed me everything: flashes of your childhood, your family, Brooklyn, Steve,” She hesitated: “The train. The fall.” 

“I remembered all of that?” Bucky asked, disbelieving.

Wanda thought about it, and then shook her head. “I don’t think you did. It must have been me,” she said. “You let me go and ripped your mask off, and you looked—” She swallowed thickly, “You were terrified, too. Of me. You asked me who I was,” she added as an afterthought. “I don’t remember what happened after, but I woke up in my cell, and you were gone. It actually got me thinking for the first time, that maybe something was _wrong_ about where I was _._ ” 

Bucky let it all sink in. “I had a feeling when I first saw you in Germany, that I knew you already.” 

“Connected,” Wanda said, and Bucky already knew this. He knew about the files Steve had pulled up about him, about Wanda, about how the files on Zola’s experiment had been used as basis for the experiments with the Mind Stone. “We should get some rest, big day tomorrow.”

Wanda hit the light, and in the darkness he felt her tuck herself into his left side, and lay her head on his chest. Another thing to be thankful to Shuri for—the Vibranium arm that he could detach and attach at choice. He rarely kept it on if it was just the two of them, and never when going to sleep. Wanda could take him if she had to, and had before without so much as breaking a sweat, but he still refused to bet on which of them had faster reflexes against the other. 

“Sometimes when I wake up and see you lying here with me I think I’ve lost it. I think I’ve gone insane,” Bucky said, feeling the rush of his admission. The thought had been on his mind, a while now, but he’d never said it aloud.

“I’m real, James,” Wanda deadpanned into his chest. 

“I know that much,” he said, chuckling softly. “But you, and me—I. Sometimes I think I don’t _deserve_ this. You. Us—”

“You do,” Wanda said earnestly. A second later, she added in a smaller voice: “I do.” 

“You’re good,” Bucky said after a while. 

“I know I am,” Wanda teased. 

“No, Wanda, I mean, _you’re_ good,” Bucky said. He felt her lift her head, could see her looking at him, confused. “You’re a good person.” 

She didn’t say anything at first. And then: “So are you.” 

She kissed him then before he could argue, and Bucky gave himself into it and kissed her back, trying to tell her how _much_ he adored her, his chest aching with how much he loved her. Terrified, she’d said, well, he _was_ terrified, of the possibility of losing her, this, them, and maybe she sensed it or she knew, because Wanda carded her fingers into his hair, and pressed one last tender kiss on his temple. She fell asleep that way too, hanging onto him lightly, and he angled his head toward her, pressing his lips against her forehead, breathing her in—and closed his eyes.


End file.
